FICTION: From frying pan to fire (2)

BY ISRAEL USULOR

The kidnappers’ cab zoomed off, galloping at a break-neck speed. Not long after, I heard a screeching sound like the car had stopped. Or it didn’t stop. It branched off into a place that felt like a very large compound. I was pushed out of the car and dragged into what felt like a room.  I was still not allowed to remove the mask covering my face and my hands and feet were still bound. The covering on my face made the night even darker and the place into which I was thrown was very scary. Even though I could see nothing, I knew it was a dungeon.

I was scared. Very scared. I compared the dungeon to my uncle’s house and tried to make a choice of which one was better. I decided the dungeon was better but later decided against my decision. “Is it better to be killed and used for money ritual than to be raped daily by one’s relative?” I was trying to reason aloud. But I wasn’t reasoning well. My head was heavy and my brain felt hazy and processed information in a dull manner like a computer si-pi-u attacked by a virus. I really didn’t know which one was better, dungeon or rape. “I’m going crazy.” I thought to myself. I tried to forget myself and sleep.

But of course, sleep took a flight from my eyes during what was obviously going to be my longest night ever. After a long time try to sleep without success, I gave up. Then I started to notice movement in and around the dungeon and I also heard people talking in low tones as if to say they were discussing my fate.

“My container has landed!” Exclaimed a very husky male voice. It’s daybreak and someone who appears to be the boss had flung the dungeon door open. It wasn’t the noisy door that jolted me up but the light that rushed into the box-like room. During the night, I had managed to remove the mask on my face after a prolonged struggle.

As the door went ajar, I was thrown off balance because, for more than eight hours, I had been locked in the dark dungeon by my kidnappers. It took a long time before I regained my composure.

I’m the container the fool was referring to. So what this idiot was saying was that my blood will be used to fertilise his business okwayaya? Ngwa nu, we shall.

He continued chanting “my container has landed.”

“Not me!” I said in my heart.

“My container has landed,” the fool said again. He was dressed in a white flowing gown with a red turban on his bald head. He looked well-kept and well-nourished. I think he is the boss who paid for my kidnap. He looked at me and nodded his head in approval. He nodded continuously as if to say “she is the virgin girl I wanted.” But he didn’t know I wasn’t a virgin, that my uncle has scattered my body.

“Bring her to my room.”  The boss told another fellow standing beside him. This fellow looked sheepish. I hated him.

The fellow charged towards me and dragged me up like a piece of rag.

“Handle her with care. No harm must come her way. She is my container” said the boss who has now turned to leave. The boss has big buttocks that swing left and right like the udder of a pregnant goat. On a normal day, I should be laughing at the sight.

“Yes sir” said the sheepish servant as he grabbed my hands again.

The goat rope, eririewu that was used to bind my feet and hands were loose and I felt a little relief but still uncertain of what to expect next. I was allowed to walk unrestrained but was nevertheless followed by a gun-toting escort.

It was early in the morning and the sun was not yet strong but shun very brightly, all the same, lightening up the compound. The air that morning was moist and gently danced on my skin, making me feel feverish and releasing a few goose pimples on my both arms. I folded my arms and walked like a hen still trying to find its feet after being introduced to a new compound.

I was led into another room in the compound, but this wasn’t a dungeon, it was a grand apartment, what one may call a master bedroom. The wet air from the air conditioner treated my skin to a cold welcome.

Well, it was a master bedroom because the master was in it, seated in a silky sofa, legs crossed. He was picking his teeth. I saw a few stripped fried chicken placed in a tray on the clean table just beside the Master. I salivated gluttonously. I was hungry since I hadn’t eaten since the previous night.

“Leave” the Master ordered the gun-totingescort who led me into the room. He bowed sheepishly and left without a word.

Master stood and led me into another room whose door was just behind him. The door had no key. He just chanted a few incantations and it zoomed open.

“Sususararaakapushasa” he said and the door went ajar.

We went in. Or I was led into the room.

The room was dimly lit and I could barely see anything. Master turned on a brighter light, and the room came alive. Now I could see clearly that we were in Master’s ritual room.

“So this is it” I said to myself. “Today is my last day on earth. It’s the end of the road for me. I will soon be dead and Master will walk away will cartons of Naira notes.” I said to myself again.

Master called in two servants. The two servants had chains. What were they going to do to me? I would soon find out.

The two men ceased me, like a hard-won prize. My two legs were spread wide apart and fastened against two polls that looked like they were made especially for that purpose. I was not naked yet but I could feel that my private part was ajar. I have suffered in this life.

As soon as the two men finished binding me, Master stripped. Now he was fully naked. His John Thomas was longer than that of my uncle. I was so scared. Another rape? What was he going to do to me? Will I still be alive after this ritual?

You can read part (1) HERE.

Israel Usulor is a journalist and short story writer. You can reach him via @JonalistIsrael and [email protected].